


Stop (In The Name Of Love): A McShep Earthside AU

by cheesey_taters



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: AU, F/M, Pre-Relationship, earthside, genderbender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-12
Updated: 2011-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:45:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheesey_taters/pseuds/cheesey_taters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A McShep Earthside AU in which John is a cop and Rodney has always been Meredith. John's just doing his job and one Meredith Rodney McKay is proving to be an... interesting arrest. ~3700 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop (In The Name Of Love): A McShep Earthside AU

**Author's Note:**

> Chronologically, this one comes before Waiting and Puppy Love. Also, please note that I borrowed David Hewlett's birthday, but changed the year. All mistakes are mine.

“Disatch to 147.”

John Sheppard drops his head against the table with a _thunk_ , barely missing his plate of half eaten burger and fries. “I’m going to murder them.”

It’s been the kind of day that the police academy warned him about all those years ago. He’s only halfway through his shift and already four reports down; this is the first reprieve he’s had all day and he should have known it wasn’t going to last.

He doesn’t lift his head as he reaches over and keys his radio. “147, go ahead dispatch.” There’s a pause on the other end of the radio and he imagines Lorne and Parrish snickering over his misfortune. He’ll get them back later when he drops off the papers still laying on the front seat of his car.

“147, respond out to the intersection of Bramble and Merton streets in reference to a two-car accident. Complainant advises nobody appears hurt at this time.”

“You want me to take that?” Ronon offers, slurping the rest of his coke.  

John’s tempted, but Ronon is down three reports himself and John knows he has plans to comp out early. “Nah, I’ve got it.” He keys his radio again. “147 will be enroute. ETA five minutes.”

>“Dispatch is direct.”

John shoves what’s left of his burger into his mouth and dumps his fries onto Ronon’s plate as he slides out of the booth, handcuffs clinking together loudly.

“Have fun,” Ronon calls, shoving a french fry into his mouth.

John gives him the finger.

—

When John rolls up on the accident, light flashing, he wonders why people can’t just exchange insurance information and be done with it. He grabs his clipboard and two accident forms before he keys his radio and informs dispatch that he’s arrived on scene. He’s sure he can hear Parrish giggling in the background when Lorne acknowledges his transmission and he makes a mental note to stop back by the court to check for more papers.

Sliding his sunglasses onto his nose, he climbs out of the cruiser and winces as he takes in the large dent on the back of what looks like a brand new Prius.

“Finally! What took you so long?”

John affects his laziest smile as he approaches the scowling woman. “What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”

“Are you blind?” She asks. “The problem is people in this God-forsaken city cannot drive! I was making a turn and this moron rear-ended me!”

“You slammed on your brakes, lady!” The other party to the accident looks as irritated as the woman does and John kicks himself for not taking Ronon up on his offer to handle this call.

“You shouldn’t have been following so close!”

“Okay, okay! Enough!” John says, holding his hands up. “I need license and registration for both of you.”

“What? Why? He’s the one who slammed in to me," the woman says. Her face is slanted downward in a crooked frown that isn’t unattractive but her attitude is grating on his nerves so he doesn’t bother with the charm. Instead, he settles for a glare that matches hers.

“License and registration. Now.”

She throws her hands up and retreats to her car, muttering angrily under her breath. John can’t make out everything she’s saying but it’s probably for the best. He takes the license and registration from the guy and reads the information off to dispatch before he slouches against his cruiser. He’s already started on the forms when the woman stomps over and thrusts her registration card at him.

He slides his glasses down just a little to glare at her some more. “I need your license too.”

“I may have… left it at work when I slipped out this afternoon,” she says, tilting her chin almost defiantly.

He huffs, annoyed that she’s just created more work for him. “Fine. Name and date of birth?”

“Meredith Rodney McKay,” she says, flushing just a little. “April 18th, 1972.”

“Rodney?” John asks. “Really?”

“My parents wanted a boy,” she says unapologetically. “Now if you’re through…”

John rolls his eyes and keys up his radio. “147 to dispatch, copy a name and date of birth for a license check. I’ll need status, soundex and descriptors.”

“10-4 147. Go ahead when you’re ready.”

“Last name is McKay, common spelling. First name Meredith, middle is Rodney. Date of birth 4/17/1972. Subject is a white female.”

“10-4 147. Stand by.”

John scribbles McKay’s name and date of birth on his form while he waits. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her shifting restlessly. “In a hurry to go somewhere?”

“I just don’t understand why everything takes so long! I didn’t do anything wrong here and I don’t appreciate being made to stand around while you do whatever it is you’re doing. Or not doing, as the case may be.”

John was thinking about letting her off with a warning for not having her license, but now he’s just going to go for a ticket.

“Listen, why don’t you just go over there and stand by your car? I’ll be with you soon.”

“Are you _dismissing_ me?”

“Yes.”

“What part of ‘I’m the victim’ are you not comprehending? Aren’t you supposed to—”

“Dispatch to 147.”

“Go ahead dispatch,” John says, grateful for the interruption.

“147, copy soundex and descriptors.”

“10 4. Go ahead.”

“M-847-302-634. Subject is five foot six and one hundred and fifty pounds.”

“I’m one twenty five,” McKay snarls. John cocks an eyebrow at her. “Ish.”

“Sure.” He keys up his radio again. “Status?”

>“147, the system is indicating that the subject is suspended.”

“What?” She cries. John drops his head to his chest and sighs. Things can never just be easy. “There has to be some kind of a mistake! My license cannot be suspended!”

“Dispatch, can you advise date and nature of suspension?”

“Subject is showing suspended as of August 17 of last year. It’s in reference to a district court FTA. Holding a copy of everything.”

“10 4 dispatch, thank you.” John sighs again and straightens against his cruiser.

“Son of a bitch,” McKay hisses. “Listen, there’s got to be some kind of a, a mistake. I never got any notice or, or, or…”

“Listen, there’s nothing I can do about that. Give the DMV a call and they should be able to tell you what’s going on. Stuff like that happens all the time and it shouldn’t be too difficult to take care of, but for now, I can’t let you drive away from here.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do then?” McKay asks angrily.

“Call someone. If you can’t get anybody out here to pick your car up, I’m going to have to have it towed.”

“This is ridiculous! Utterly fucking ridiculous!”

John pinches the bridge of his nose. He was really trying to not take his shitty day out on her, but he’s had enough of her trying his patience. “Ma’am, I don’t have time to stand here and debate this with you. Find someone to come get the car, or I will.”

“I want to speak to your supervisor! Do you have any idea who I even _> am_? I don’t have time for this shit! This whole accident isn’t even my fault!”

“Ma’am.”

“Stop calling me ‘ma’am!” She huffs. “I want your badge number. When I’m through with you, you’ll never…”

“Badge number 147, _ma’am_. And you might wanna start making those calls.”

“Make the calls your own fucking self,” she says and then she throws her phone at him.

It smacks him square in the face and while any other time he might laugh the whole stupid situation off, he’s had enough.

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he says, grabbing her arms and forcing them behind her back. She squeals indignantly and struggles against him, but he holds her tight as he wrestles his handcuffs out of their holder and slaps them on her wrists. He tightens them a little more than necessary and nudges her toward his car.

>“No, no, no! Wait! I didn’t, I didn’t mean to hit you! I never hit _anything_ and I’ve thrown things at people loads of times! Wait!”

John ignores her. “147 to dispatch, I’ve got a 10 95 in custody. Notify the next wrecker on the list and have them respond to my location in reference to a suspended driver.”

“Copy that, 147. Are you okay or do you need another unit?”

“I’m okay for now,” he says. He opens the back door of the cruiser and pushes her inside, careful not to smack her head against the roof of the car, even though it would serve her right.

“I will have your job for this!” McKay threatens and John smiles his laziest smile as he slams the door shut.

Turning away from her, he pinches his nose again, trying to ward off the impending headache. He doesn’t notice the other police cruiser pull up until Ronon climbs out, his laughter booming.

“Shut up,” John warns.

“Told you to let me take it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“I’ll stand by with the vehicle. What is this? Five reports now?”

“I stopped counting,” John says dryly. “Thanks.”

Ronon waves him off.

—

When John makes it back to the station, McKay has finally stopped cursing him, but he can still feel her glare on the back of his head as he pulls into the sally-port.

“If I take these ‘cuffs off, you swear you’re not going to throw anything else at me?” John asks as he helps her out of the back of the car.

“I already said I didn’t mean to hit you,” she says grumpily.

“Yeah well,” John leads her into processing, “didn’t anyone ever teach you how to talk yourself out of a ticket? For future reference, assaulting a cop with your cell phone really isn’t the way to go.” Resting a hand against her back, he pushes her over just a little and then unlocks the handcuffs, sliding them off of her wrists. “Sit down over there,” he says, pointing to an empty chair.

McKay does what she’s told, rubbing her wrists a little. “Don’t I get a phone call?”

“You watch too much TV. That’s only if you go to jail.”

She huffs angrily and crosses her arms over her chest as she drops down into the chair. “This is incredibly unfair, you know. I was the _victim_!”

“Who was driving on a suspended license.”

“Through no fault of my own! Listen, I’m really, really important. I know you may not believe me, but I am. Little stupid stuff like this completely slips my mind and, and, and…” she sighs, shoulders rounding out in an unhappy slump.

John sinks down into the chair on the other side of the table and leans back, linking his fingers lazily behind his head. “Heard it all before.”

McKay glares, but wisely says nothing to that. “Can I at least get something to eat? I missed lunch.”

“What do you think this is, lady?” John asks, resisting the urge to laugh. He’s had strange prisoners before, but none quite like her.

“I’m hypoglycemic and I’m already starting to get shaky. Unless you want me to pass out in this sorry excuse for a police department, then…” she trails off and shrugs. “Well, trust me, you don’t want that. It’s not pretty. And I would hate to have to sue you for that too.”

John rolls his eyes and contemplates ignoring her request, but she does look a little paler than she had at the scene so he grabs the phone from the desk and dials communications.

“Lorne.”

“I need a favor,” John says. “And it’s the least you can do after this call.”

Lorne snickers quietly and John hears Parrish giggle in the background. “What do you want?”

“Go to the snack machine and grab something for my 10 95.”

“What?”

“Just do it, huh? A bag of chips or something. And grab a soda while you’re at it.”

>“Fine, fine.”

“And print out a copy of her record and bring it down, would you?”

“Of course, _sir_ ,” Lorne says. John promptly hangs up on him.

McKay sighs loudly and drops her head to the table.

“I wouldn’t do that. Do you have any idea what kind of people we bring in here?” John asks, wrinkling his nose. He never touches that table if he can help it.

McKay lifts her head and stares down at it in disgust. “I can’t believe this. When did this become my life? I mean, really. My mother always said I’d end up behind bars one day, but I thought it would be for something far more exciting than hitting an officer of the law with a phone.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t your best moment, Naomi Campbell.”

“What?”

“Nevermind,” John says. “So you’ve never been arrested before?”

“Does it look like I’m the type of person who’s been arrested before?”

“You’d be surprised,” John responds dryly. “Let me tell you how this is going to work. I’ve got to fill out some paperwork, which puts me _five reports_ behind, thank you very much. I’ll fingerprint you, snap a mugshot and then you’ll go over to the commissioner where you’ll either be released or sent to the detention center. Any questions?”

“D… detention center? You mean like _jail_?”

“No, I mean like a day spa,” John says with a roll of his eyes.

“I can’t go to jail! Oh, sweet God, I didn’t even mean to hit you! It was a complete fluke! Do you know what the probability of me actually hitting you was? I mean, when you factor in the direction and speed of the wind with the—”

“Miss McKay, this will go a lot quicker if you stop talking.”

“Doctor, actually.”

“What?”

“I’m a doctor. Not a medical doctor. That’s all voodoo. But doctor and, oh God, I’m babbling, but I’m really actually quite nervous. I don’t want to go to jail. I won’t do well in jail. Do I really look like I’d survive jail? Oh God.”

“Hey,” John says. Against his better judgment, he reaches across the table and pats her hand awkwardly. “First offense, it’s unlikely you’re going to jail. Just uh, as long as you tell the commissioner that you’ll be a good girl and won’t throw your phone at another officer.”

When the door to processing opens, John pulls away from McKay like he’s been burned and leans back in his chair as Ronon walks in. He tosses the bag of chips to McKay and sets the soda on the table with a _thunk_. John is mildly horrified at the way she tears into the chips like she’s been starved, but he forces himself to look away.

“Get the car squared away?”

“Uh huh. Simpson’s picked it up. This belong to her?” Ronon asks, holding up McKay’s cracked cell phone.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

“If I give it back to you, do you promise not to throw it at his head again? Wouldn’t want to mess up his face,” Ronon says, a low laugh rumbling from his chest. John rolls his eyes. He’s surrounded by comedians.

—

In the end, John charges McKay with disorderly rather than assaulting a police officer. Because it’s her first offense, the commissioner releases her on her own recognizance and she’s a free woman again.

“Listen,” John says as they step into the lobby of the police department. He rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Can I give you a ride somewhere? Or is there anyone you could call?”

McKay checks her watch and sighs. “Everyone at the lab is probably already gone for the day.”

“Okay, you tell me where to drop you off and—”

“I live ten minutes outside of the city,” she interrupts.

John sighs, wondering why the hell he's offering what he's about to offer. “I’m off in twenty if you want to hang around. I can give you a ride.”

McKay eyes him contemptuously for a moment before she sighs. “I suppose, since this is all your fault, giving me a ride would be the very least you could do.”

“My fault? How do you figure?”

“You _arrested_ me!”

“Yeah, after you _hit me with your phone_!”

“It couldn’t have hurt!”

“That’s not the point!” This woman is infuriating and John can’t wait to be rid of her. “Do you want a damn ride or not?”

“Fine! _Fine_! But only because… because…”

“Do you _want_ to walk?” John asks. He’s going out on a limb, only God knows why, to make sure she gets home okay and she’s arguing. How does he get himself into these situations?

She hesitates for a minute and stares, as if she’s trying to read him. “No,” she says grudgingly.

“Then shut up.” He opens the door to the waiting room and gestures her inside. “And sit here like a good girl while I finish up my paperwork.”

“Did you just—!”

“Sit!”

She drops down into the chair and scowls at him, her mouth set in a crooked frown.

He laughs quietly to himself all the way back to the squad room.

—

John doesn’t think about Meredith McKay again after dropping her off at her apartment.

—

“Dispatch to 147.”

John jerks awake in the patrol car, blinking sleepily as he looks around, trying to get his bearings.

“147, come in please,” Parrish says, sounding a little annoyed.

John clears his throat and swipes his eyes before he keys the radio. “Yeah, go ahead dispatch.” He squints at his watch in the dark and groans. It figures Parrish would give him a call a half an hour before the end of his shift on his last day.

“147, we just received a report of a disabled vehicle in the left hand lane of Washington Avenue. Female subject is apparently out of the vehicle. Can you respond out and make sure everything is okay?”

“No, I cannot,” John says to himself before he keys up his radio. “That’s correct, dispatch. I’ll be enroute. ETA is about seven minutes out.”

“Dispatch copies and is direct.”

John rubs his eyes again before he shifts the car into drive. The windows are down and John closes his eyes against the cool, early morning breeze. He hopes there’s nothing to this call because it’s been a long, tiring shift and he just wants to get home and crawl into his bed for a few hours of solid sleep.

As he pulls up on the scene, John positions his car behind the disabled vehicle and turns on his lights before he climbs out.

“Everything okay, ma’am?” He calls a little dumbly.

She’s crouched down on the passenger side of the vehicle, fiddling with the tire. She jumps at the sound of his voice and John recognizes the scowl immediately.

“You again,” she says. She looks almost as tired as he feels.

“Well, well, well. Miss McKay. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this morning? I hope you got that license taken care of. Last thing I want to have to do is arrest you. Again.”

“Ha ha. You’re hysterical,” she says and then sighs. “My tire blew,” she says sullenly.

John approaches the car slowly, wincing at the damaged tire. “Wow. Yeah, you got that one pretty good. You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Well, as a matter of fact…” she appears to be gearing up for a loud complaint, but she deflates and shrugs. It’s a nice change from the whiny woman he arrested three weeks ago. “No, not really. I can’t get the damn thing off though. I don’t suppose you have a number handy for that tow service you used last time we—ahem—met, do you?”

He crouches down beside her to get a better look at her tire. Their standard operating procedure is that they don’t touch flats, but he knows that if she calls Simpson’s Towing Service out this early in the morning, they’re going to charge her an arm and a leg. “Got a spare?”

“In the trunk.”

John has changed plenty of tires from the time he was strong enough to pull the spare of a trunk and he makes quick work of McKay’s, all while listening to Ronon and Parrish’s irritated exchange over the radio.

“There you go,” he says, pushing himself to his feet with a quiet groan as his knees protest. “All finished. Make sure you get a new one though. Don’t drive around on that spare for too long.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” McKay says without any heat. “Well um, thank you for your service this morning.”

“Hey, no problem. You actually saved my ass. My shift partner just got stuck with a B&E that’ll most likely keep him tied up til after lunch so, I should really be thanking you.”

“You’re finishing up then?”

“In about…” he trails off and checks his watch. “Thirteen minutes, give or take a few seconds.”

“You work terrible hours.”

“Tell me about it,” he says with a lazy grin. “Speaking of weird hours, what are you doing up so early?”

“I uh…” she flushes just a little. “I’m actually just on my way to get a bite to eat. Work ran a little late last night—uh, this morning. Whatever.” She rubs the back of her neck a little nervously as her mouth turns up in a crooked half smile. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me, would you? I mean, it’s the least I can do for changing my tire and, and, and not arresting me. Again.”

John thinks about it for a second. He’s always made it a point to not hang out with people he’s arrested, but McKay is kind of cute in a neurotic and weird way. Besides, he knows he’ll sleep better on a full stomach, so what the hell? “Sure,” he says with a half shrug.

“I’ll meet you at… Norma’s diner in say, twenty minutes?”

“Make it twenty five,” John says. “And McKay?”

“Hmm?”

“Leave the cell phone in the car.”

John walks back to the cop car, snickering quietly to himself at McKay’s indignant stuttering. At the very least, he’s sure breakfast is going to be an entertaining affair. 


End file.
